


Pragmatism - Deleted Scenes

by raspberrycoffeecake



Series: Pragmatism [3]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Multi, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrycoffeecake/pseuds/raspberrycoffeecake
Summary: A smattering of scenes that don't fit into Pragmatism, my main OT3 hot mess AU.





	1. sturmling + “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?” + "I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fills from my Tumblr ([raspberrycoffeecake](https://raspberrycoffeecake.tumblr.com)). Feel free to stop by and request pairings/scenes!

_Part 1: “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”_

This is the first time the two of them have spent any significant length of time together without Alina present, and the Darkling is convinced that Nikolai is going to drive him insane.

He had known the king would, of course, even before he agreed to this crazy idea, but Alina was still breastfeeding and refused to leave the palace herself, and the only way she would allow Nikolai to go off to do some “negotiating” as Sturmhond was if the Darkling agreed to go with him. As a glorified babysitter.

So instead of getting to spend hours with Alina’s soft, still baby-rounded body curled up in his arms, the Darkling is stuck on board a ship with this overgrown child, going Saints only know where for Saints only know what purpose. And if anything, Lantsov is worse with his princely good looks Tailored away into the fox-faced Sturmhond. He seems to lose even the minute amount of decorum he possesses as king, and descends fully into ridiculousness.

At least the Darkling can find some relief from the king’s constant jovial ribbing above decks. Lantsov seems content to leave his grisha advisor alone when he’s standing at the rail, staring out at the vastness of the True Sea. It has a beauty and a grandeur, he thinks, that not even his most powerful Tidemakers can tame.

And right now, judging by the dark clouds they are moving into, that vastness is about to dump a lot of rain on them.

The Darkling watches as dark clouds consume the blue sky above them, feels the waves begin to grow, sending the ship rising ever higher and tumbling ever faster on each swell, tastes the rain beginning to mingle with the salt spray in a fascinating and terrifying combination. Then, finally, he hears the boom of far-off thunder that unmistakably heralds the approach of a major storm.

A hand falls on the Darkling’s shoulder, as he stands at the railing. He doesn’t shrug it off.

“Didn’t you notice we’re in the middle of a thunderstorm, Your Darklingness?” If Alina weren’t so unfortunately attached to this man, the Darkling really would have murdered him by now. “What are you still doing above decks? Stopping to feel the rain?”

“Shouldn’t you be off somewhere, making sure your ship won’t sink?” the Darkling snaps back, his patience worn thin. “I don’t relish the idea of going down with this ship, especially if you’re on it with me.”

Nikolai laughs, apparently unbothered by the Darkling’s reproach. “The Volkvolny is as seaworthy as they get. We’ll batten down the hatches, seal up all the cracks, and then we can ride anything out in comfort below decks.” He pauses, a wicked grin now splitting his face. “As long as you don’t get seasick.”

“I’m more likely to get sick of you,” the Darkling grumbles under his breath.

“Oh?” Nikolai raises an eyebrow mischievously. “I think I might have a cure for that.”

The rain is pounding down on them in earnest now, but the Darkling finds he doesn’t mind, with Nikolai’s lips on his and the promise of more between them as the king-privateer pulls him toward the captain’s quarters.

 

_Part 2: "I’m not going anywhere.”_

The rain is battering hard on the ship’s hull now, and it’s rocking so wildly that the Darkling is afraid what he told Nikolai will be proven false, and he really will get seasick.

Nikolai pushes open the door to his cabin, and promptly locks it behind him, before he pushes the Darkling up against the door and the slightly taller man pins the Darkling’s hands above his head.

The Darkling raises an eyebrow.This is an interesting new development.He’s not entirely displeased with the idea.But he can’t just let this go unchallenged, either.

“Don’t you have duties to see to?Hatches to batten down?”

Nikolai shrugs.“Tamar and Tolya are capable first mates.I trust them to keep us afloat.”His eyes meet the Darkling’s without hesitation, before he mutters, “I’m not going anywhere,” and seizes the Darkling’s lips in his own.

The Darkling drags his mouth away from Nikolai’s, keeping it just barely out of the younger man’s reach, and chuckles.“That’s a shame, Lantsov, because I thought you might be coming quite soon.”

Nikolai gapes at the Darkling for a full five seconds, before he bursts out laughing.“Aleksander Morozova, immortal grisha and scourge of the eastern lands, just made a joke?I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

The Darkling scowls.“Perhaps I should reconsider making another, if it’s going to elicit this kind of reaction.”

“Fuck, no,” Nikolai growls, his nails sinking into the Darkling’s skin where he holds the older man’s hands against the door.“I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on in my life.” 

“Prove it.”This trip is turning out to be far more interesting than he had originally thought it might.

It’s not far to the captain’s narrow bunk - one the Darkling remembers quite well from the weeks he spent here while they were pursuing the sea whip - and Nikolai seems comfortable taking the lead, pressing the Darkling down into the bunk below him, pulling aside kefta and shoving down trousers and finally, with an exasperated sigh, growling, “Take your damn clothes off, Sasha, I don’t have the patience for this.”

The Darkling quirks another eyebrow at the young king/privateer, but does as he’s instructed, shucking off boots and shirt and pants while Nikolai stands and does the same - and then the king’s lithe and muscular body is on top of the Darkling again.

The Darkling is not going to let even the king forget who he’s topping, so he rakes his nails down Nikolai’s back, bringing out the most satisfying groan from between the boy’s lips before the Darkling grabs Nikolai’s chin in his hand and drags the king’s mouth down to his own.

And thank the Saints Nikolai has a bottle of oil stashed beside the bed (although the Darkling is tempted to laugh - just who was the king planning on bringing to his bunk, anyway?) and it’s only a minute longer before he’s thrusting inside the Darkling while his hand casually begins stroking the grisha’s cock.

“You know, Lantsov,” the Darkling remarks conversationally, even as Nikolai’s touch brings him closer and closer to bliss, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a cock inside me.At least a hundred years, give or take a few.You plan to make this worth it?”

“Oh, I plan to make every second count,” Nikolai murmurs back, before biting the Darkling’s lip hard enough to draw blood.

For some reason, when they are both lying, sated, naked limbs tangled up in the too-small bunk, the Darkling finds himself whispering to his delightfully vulnerable and soft lover, “Perhaps I do like thunderstorms, after all.”


	2. OT3 + “Please don’t make me socialize.”

The door opens, and Alina looks up from where she’s sitting. “Saints, Nikolai,” she groans, as Genya continues pinning up Alina’s hair without pause. “This is ridiculous. I heard that in Fjerda pregnant women aren’t required to attend court events at all.”

Nikolai’s fierce gaze meets hers in the mirror. Then he turns, the image of politeness, and asks, “Genya, would you give us a moment?”

Genya smirks, puts one last pin in Alina’s hair, with an extra tug for good measure, and leaves the room. Alina sits back in her chair and crosses her arms over her very large belly, waiting to see which of her two lovers will respond first.

Nikolai approaches, and makes a show of rubbing her shoulders, which she can appreciate, even if she’s feeling cross with him. “Darling,” he murmurs in her ear, “Fjerdan noblewomen aren’t allowed to leave their chambers after they start showing. I really don’t think you want to use that as the basis for your argument.”

The Darkling settles down beside her and presses a cheek to where a child belonging to one of these two men - none of them knows which one, yet - is growing and preparing to enter the world. When he speaks into her belly, the sound rumbles through her body and makes her shiver deliciously. “On the contrary, Lantsov,” he remarks, his hand sliding up her thigh, “I can think of many delightful things that might result, if our queen were to be confined to her chambers.”

Nikolai whacks the back of the Darkling’s head good-naturedly. “Stop that, Sasha. We’re already running late as it is, and we’re the hosts of the fete. We can’t very well give our regrets to ourselves.”

But Alina sees her opening, and goes for it. She pouts, knowing Nikolai is powerless to resist, and whines, “I’m carrying around another _person_ , Kolya. Just _existing_ is hard enough. _Please_ don’t make me socialize, too.”

The Darkling takes her side, as she knew he would. Running his hand down her side, he adds, “You know I would be happy to stay with Alina and make sure she doesn’t get bored in here, all by herself.”

Nikolai groans and buries his face in his hands. “You two are impossible. Remind me who decided it was a good idea to reproduce, with you two already acting like oversized children as it is?”

Alina watches the Darkling rise in the mirror, and take Nikolai’s face in his hands. The sight of her two lovers together turns her on more and more these days, and tonight, she feels like a powder keg ready to burst.

“Tell me, Your Majesty,” the Darkling growls against Nikolai’s lips, “there aren’t some possible benefits to staying in bed tonight.”

Nikolai pulls away, breaths coming fast. Alina can tell the Darkling is pleased at his ability to chip away at the king’s composure.

“I refuse to be the only one of us who takes his role at court seriously,” he declares, clearly miffed. “Not every battle is fought with swords. Alina, it should not strain you too much in your _delicate condition_ to sit at the head of a table for a couple of hours and make pleasant small talk with whomever approaches you. Sasha, I don’t really care what you do, but if we have to suffer through this, then you do, too.”

“Yes, sir,” the Darkling breathes, looking like he’s straining to suppress a chuckle.

The king bends down and kisses his queen on the cheek. “I’ll meet you at the entrance to the ballroom in half an hour. No excuses, darling.”

“Of course not,” she quips, and Nikolai turns to leave.

The Darkling looks at Alina with a barely concealed smirk. “I trust you have several ideas in mind for getting your revenge on him, once our duties for tonight are over?”

She pulls the Darkling’s face down to her own and mutters, “You know me too well, Sasha.”


	3. multi-ship + “Wanna go grab a drink?”

There’s a sense of a vast, barely contained tension dissolving into mist as the final members of the Dregs arrive at Van Eck’s mansion, their mission complete, the future of the world secure - at least for now.

“Wanna go grab a drink?” the Sun Summoner suggests, half-joking, but they still have a couple of hours before they need to row out to the ship, and the entire city is locked down under plague precautions, so why not? 

“Kaz,” Nina, the no-longer-quite-Heartrender, suggests with a wink, “I think we’ve earned a round at the Crow Club." 

Kaz, the triumphant gang leader, scowls, but he relents without too much argument, and so before long, the entire group of Ravkan dignitaries and Ketterdam street thugs have piled into the made-over funeral barge and are making their way over to the Barrel.

As expected, the Crow Club is quiet, with most of the usual patrons cowering at home, and Kaz gets them a private room, where they spread out on all the available seating, hands clutching pints of ale and glasses of champagne and shot glasses.

As the evening drags on and everyone grows tipsier, boundaries start to blur and people draw closer together.

Nina, still sitting on her Fjerdan witch hunter’s lap, with one arm draped around his neck, has her head on the Wraith’s shoulder, and looks close to tears. “I don’t want to leave you, Inej,” she’s murmuring.

Inej strokes Ninas hair and responds soothingly, “I’ll come visit whenever I can. Ravka isn’t all that far away.”

Kaz is sitting as close as he possibly can to his Wraith without actually touching her, and at one point, she slides her bare hand on top of his gloved one, and his eyes meet hers in a look that might burn anyone foolish enough to get between them.

The sharpshooter and his redheaded lover, meanwhile, appear to have abandoned any sense of decorum somewhere around their second or third drinks, and don’t seem to care that they are sucking on each others’ faces and their hands are definitely in places they shouldn’t be while in full view of the rest of the company. But then, no one else seems to actually be paying them much attention.

The Squaller and the Tailor sit sprawled on another couch, talking and laughing quietly with each other.

And the Sun Summoner and the privateer, who began the evening sitting side-by-side with a proper amount of distance between them, are now draped over each other, Alina running her hands through Sturmhond’s hair. The Darkling, leader of Ravka’s Second Army, sits on her other side, his hands hovering over the Sun Summoner as if his desires and inhibitions are battling within him, without much resolution.

Alina giggles, a sound that is quite at odds with her reputation as a powerful military leader and dignified queen. “Do you think our new friends think Ravka’s queen is carrying on an affair with a pirate?”

Sturmhond huffs. “For the last time, darling, I’m a privateer, not a pirate.” He glances over at their companions. “And they look too absorbed in their own business to care, one way or another.”

Then the Sun Summoner gets a wicked gleam in her eye. “Let’s play a drinking game.”


	4. alarkling + "I'll keep you warm”

He’s dreaming again. 

Since Alina returned to the palace, since she emerged from underground back into the world of the living, the Darkling has slept fitfully. He cries out suddenly, fear in his voice. He shivers. He clutches at her as if she’s his salvation.

She knows he’s dreaming, that something from the yawning centuries of his past is haunting him. She can see it in the way the silvery depths of his eyes seem to retreat into some long-lost place she can’t follow him to.

When Nikolai’s in bed with them, they let him hold them tighter without saying anything. Instinctively, they know that, despite the new intimacy they’ve finally achieved, he still doesn’t want to reveal this part of himself in front of them. He’s afraid of showing his weaknesses, like a wolf both longs and fears to bear its soft belly to a packmate. If they draw too close, they might get bitten.

So they hold him between the two of them, chasing away whatever fears and demons he’s battling with the warmth of their naked bodies. And in the morning, they never speak of it.

But Nikolai’s gone now, heading across the Fold to spend the next few weeks taking care of privateer business as Sturmhond, and it’s just the two of them in bed tonight.

He made love to her, of course, the force with which he held her hands down and drove into her betraying his need to show her who she belonged to; but there was something else in his desperate movements, too - a vulnerability, a need to prove his control over his own world and everyone in it.

He cries out now, and that illusion of control is split open. He’s just a boy, she thinks, as she pulls him into her arms, holding his head against her chest. “It’s alright, Sasha,” she murmurs, “I’m here. It was just a dream, love.”

His eyes open, as lost and uncertain as a kitten’s, and she’s struck, as she often is, by the strange fact that someone who looks so young and innocent could be the architect of so much of Ravka’s suffering and strife over the last half-millenium.

“What were you dreaming about?” she whispers into the chamber’s oppressive silence. She strokes the damp hair back from his forehead.

He’s silent for so long, she almost thinks he’s not going to reply. “It’s so cold,” he finally murmurs, at once both answer and not.

Another shiver wracks his body, and she pulls him closer to her breast. “I’ll keep you warm, Sasha,” she promises, summoning a light glow, just enough to warm them both.

He burrows deeper into the comfort of her arms, and for just a moment, they aren’t powerful sorcerers and monarchs and world-shakers - they’re just a boy and a girl, taking comfort in each others’ touch, relying on one another to hold the darkness at bay.


	5. OT3 + "if you guys are gonna make out over the bodies of our foes then at least let me join in"

The drüskelle had come out of nowhere, twenty of them, their new armor glinting in the moonlight that reflected off the snow. It was reinforced against Heartrenders, their most recent intelligence reported, but it didn’t matter either way. Alina was alone.

She cursed her own foolishness, for getting angry and running off like she had. But there had been no reason to expect any danger. This was firmly within Ravka’s territory, miles from the Fjerdan border, and there hadn’t been any enemy activity in this area for months. Unfortunately that meant that the Darkling would let her blow steam as he often did, and probably wouldn’t even think to go after her until it was too late.

Because she wasn’t under any misapprehensions about what would happen to her, once they caught up with her. Which was starting to look more inevitable, the closer they came to her hiding spot. 

She had seen the reports that were leaking out of the Ice Court, about what Jarl Brum was doing with the grisha he captured; the rumors about jurda parem. What might he do with the Sun Summoner in his grasp? Even if the Darkling and Nikolai managed to demand her release, there was no way they could bring her back home as anything more than a burnt-out shell, hopelessly addicted to the drug and burning herself up from the inside.

No. She wasn’t going to let herself think like that. She channelled her inner Nikolai, and reminded herself that there was a way out of everything, even the stickiest situation. Perhaps she could blind them, and run before they could figure out which direction she had gone in. But the fallen snow would make that kind of subterfuge difficult. Even now, they were probably close to finding the tracks she had made.

Could she make a Cut large enough to tear through all of them, before they could bind her hands behind her back and cut off her ability to Summon? These witch hunters were fast and skilled enough, she would likely only have one chance. 

Inhaling deeply, she stepped out from behind the tree trunk and raised her hands to Cut, shoving down the sick sensation she felt at taking so much life in one swipe- 

And felt herself being roughly shoved to the ground, her hands pinned behind her back, a knee keeping her legs from thrashing at her captor while he bound her hands. She screamed, until he shoved a gag in her mouth and all she could do was whimper in pathetic opposition to what seemed impossibly likely to be her fate.

Sasha, where are you? she found herself wondering wildly as the man hauled her to her feet and dragged her to where the others were waiting. Exchanged words with them in Fjerdan. Handed her off to two other men.

How long would it take for her to finally die from the drug? How many awful things would they force her to do to her own countrymen, against her own people, in the meantime? Would Nikolai and the Darkling ever forgive themselves for letting this happen to her?

In a daze, she stumbled through the forest, the edges of trees blurring in her vision, nothing clear or real except the feeling of gloved hands tight on her upper arms, the sounds of boots crunching in the snow on either side of her, keeping her penned in like a cow being herded to the slaughterhouse.

It barely registered when those grips slackened, when the drüskelle on either side of her started shouting angrily in Fjerdan and shouldering their rifles. It didn’t register until she saw shadows crawl up their throats, until one of the men holding her fell to the ground, Cut in half. Then, finally, it sank in, and she started struggling against her bonds again, desperate to help.

She didn’t realize it was over until she felt his firm hands on her wrists, slicing through the ropes they had tied her with. When she was free, he pulled her around to face him, his hands framing her face, examining her as a Healer might.

“Did they hurt you?” he finally asked.

She shook her head. She was fine, at least physically.

Then, before she could think of anything to say, his lips were on hers, his hands tightening around her waist. “I’m never letting you do that again, solnishka,” he muttered angrily. “If it were up to me, I’d lock you up for at least a century.”

“As long as you let me enjoy her company sometimes, I’m not sure I’d oppose that,” a dry voice commented from a few paces away.

Alina’s head jerked up to find a smirk on her husband’s face. Then, with a rakish grin, he added, “If you two are going to make out over the bodies of our foes, then at least let me join in.” 

And as his hands settled on her waist, his firm body pressed up against her back as the Darkling’s caged her in front, his lips finding her neck as the Darkling plundered her mouth, she had to admit that the Darkling’s suggestion didn’t sound half-bad.


	6. OT3 + "Kiss me."

They’re sprawled out in the king’s study, the Darkling occupying an armchair in the corner, his long legs stretched out over one of the armrests, while Nikolai leans back in his ornate leather desk chair. He passes a hand over his eyes, trying to restore some focus to his work. It’s been over a week, and they’re still no closer to finding her than they were at the start of this ordeal.

The Darkling seems to sense his frustration, and walks over to him, leans over the back of the king’s chair, runs a hand through his gold curls. “It’s after midnight,” he murmurs into Nikolai’s ear, his breath making the hairs on the back of the king’s neck stand on end. “You should rest.” 

This is still new, this…whatever it is between them. Nikolai hates how the Darkling can make him nervous, the way he used to feel when his father would summon him to point out whatever mistake he had most recently made. That feeling of being under intense scrutiny, without any idea what the observer is actually thinking. It’s unsettling.

Even more so when the Darkling pulls away from Nikolai for several agonizing seconds, before demanding simply, his voice sharp, “Kiss me.”

Nikolai can nearly feel his heart about to beat out of his chest, when he manages to murmur, “What?” The Darkling has done many things to him in the short time they’ve been together - many of which Nikolai would prefer not to consider in too much detail outside of the bedroom - but he’s never been reluctant to take what he wanted before. What the fuck is he playing at?

The Darkling glances pointedly over his shoulder, then back at Nikolai. “She’s here,” he says softly. “And she wants to see you, too.”

Nikolai’s breath catches at the Darkling’s words. Yes, perhaps he is following Alina’s orders, but it’s oddly sweet, the fact that this ancient grisha wants Alina to be able to see him, too. Wants her to be able to feel close to her husband in some way, even though they’re who knows how far apart, with who knows how many tons of rock separating them.

That thought in his mind, he drags the Darkling’s face down to his own, pulling the older man into his lap as he does.

“Fuck,” the Darkling groans as Nikolai plunders his mouth, their tongues meeting, hands sliding lower, until…

Nikolai glances over at the space he assumes Alina is occupying although, predictably, he sees nothing. “Can she see me?”

The Darkling chuckles. “Yes, Lantsov, she can see you. In fact, I think, based on what she’s doing with her hands, that she’s quite interested in what we’re doing right now.”

Nikolai feels his cheeks color. They’ve watched each other before, of course, but it’s never been this strange, with one party entirely invisible to another. 

Fortunately, he doesn’t need to think for long, because soon, the Darkling’s hands are on him, and his mouth is on his again, and the thought that Alina can see them like this only works to enhance his pleasure even more.

And when they both come, in a mess of hastily removed clothing and teeth and raw skin, he swears he can feel her lips on his cheek before he sinks into sleep. 

When he wakes, he knows he will devote every ounce of will he has to finding whatever he has missed in the sparse clues they have, finding whatever will lead them to her, because he needs her. No, they need her. In their bed, and in their lives. And once they have a direction to go in, no power on Earth will be able to stop them from getting to her.


	7. OT3 + misha's birth

Genya and the Healer she brought with her did make a half-hearted attempt to shoo the two men out of the room early in the process, right after Alina’s water broke and she started screaming. But Nikolai and the Darkling both so thoroughly ignored their pointed suggestions - more pointed in Genya’s case, although there’s only so pointed one can get with the King and his chief advisor - that no one has tried to oust them in a few hours. 

They don’t dare get too close to Alina, for fear of being yelled at either by Genya or by Alina herself - but they also don’t leave. They both know that the Healer can only be the best in her field, if Genya was willing to trust her, but the Darkling can tell from Nikolai’s strained expression that they’re both thinking the same thing: anything less than a completely healthy delivery would be unacceptable.

It’s agony, watching the woman he loves go through so much pain, knowing that it would take so very little - a rupture the Healer doesn’t notice in time, the baby turning in the wrong way - for the light he waited centuries for to be snuffed out, with no warning.

When her cries grow sickeningly loud and the Darkling is about to yell for these useless Healers to leave his solnishka alone, for Saints’ sake, he feels Nikolai grasp his hand and squeeze it. As he does, the Darkling feels the cocky young man tremble slightly, and somehow it alleviates his fear, just a little, to know that Lantsov is going through the same thing.

And that’s when the top of the child’s head appears.

Up until this point, it’s been all about Alina. Her cravings, her aches, her changing body. But now, suddenly, it occurs to the Darkling that he hasn’t fully grasped the significance of this. She’s bringing new life into the world. 

His breath catches.

Before long, Genya is lifting the baby boy into Alina’s arms - even at one glance, with that coloring, he is clearly Nikolai’s, the Darkling thinks, with a strange mix of relief and loss - and the infant’s tiny mouth latches onto her breast.

They stand there in silence for a while, Alina feeding the child, the others watching. Eventually, Genya leaves, shooing the other Healer out too, and it’s just the three of them in Alina’s bedroom, now a changed place. 

Alina smiles up at Nikolai and hands him the baby. His expression is one of open wonder, as he asks her, “Did you decide on a name?”

Her eyes never leave the child, this life she grew and pushed out, all on her own. “What do you think about Mikhail?”

Nikolai kisses the baby’s forehead. “Hm. Misha. A good name.”

It’s a nice tableau. Mother, father, child. But it’s difficult for the Darkling to keep the bitterness out of his thoughts. He has no part to play in this scene. What right does he have to interrupt it?

Nikolai turns toward the Darkling. The tiniest hesitation in his movement. “Would you like to hold him?”

Yes, and no. Yes, he wants to hold this child, wants to feel this connection to Alina, wants to pretend he has a place in this family. No, he doesn’t want to stand here like a beggar, accepting scraps of affection as if he truly believes it will lead to something else.

But Nikolai is already handing the baby over, and instinctively, the Darkling is holding his arms out, and feels a warm weight settle into his grasp. And suddenly, it doesn’t matter that this child isn’t his by blood, that he’s not the one married to its mother - a fierce, protective instinct seizes him.

“Hello, little one,” he murmurs, rocking the child gently as it sleeps, content for the moment to doze, utterly trusting, in the Darkling’s arms.

He looks over at Alina, and sees her smiling sleepily up at him. “Misha,” she says tenderly, “meet your Uncle Sasha.”

Uncle Sasha. He likes the sound of that.


End file.
